


The Circle Game

by singing_to_shipwreck (shocked_into_shame)



Category: What We Do in the Shadows (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Pre-Slash, TW: Blood mention, but you know we out here, kind of?, nandor is surprisingly wise, probably out of character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24579562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shocked_into_shame/pseuds/singing_to_shipwreck
Summary: In the quiet moments after a thwarted assassination attempt, Guillermo anguishes and Nandor comforts.
Relationships: Guillermo/Nandor the Relentless (What We Do in the Shadows TV)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 136





	The Circle Game

**Author's Note:**

> _Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true  
>  There'll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty  
> Before the last revolving year is through  
> And the seasons they go round and round  
> And the painted ponies go up and down  
> We're captive on the carousel of time  
> We can't return, we can only look behind  
> From where we came  
> And go round and round and round  
> In the circle game _

Guillermo took Nandor’s cape off with a flourish, setting it to the side and returning to his master to undo the cravat at his neck. His joints creaked with every movement, and just raising his arms to Nandor’s chest-level made him wince, his features curling up in pain. He ached all over. It was a fresh ache, he knew, probably the worst of it. After a nice long sleep in his tiny little bed, it would hopefully settle into a dull throb that could be regulated with copious amounts of ice and Tylenol.

He felt grateful to even still have a place in this home and a bed to return to after tonight. 

“Guillermo, are you in pain?” Nandor asked. Guillermo shook his head indignantly. Nandor pursed his lips and reached out, grabbing Guillermo by the wrists, his long fingers squeezing tight around them. Guillermo blinked up at him. Nandor pushed his arms down, giving them an experimental shove, and watched for the painful expression to pass across his familiar’s face again. Guillermo tried to stop it, but he couldn’t school his features. He hissed as his arms were forced to bend at the elbows. “You  _ are _ in pain, Guillermo,” Nandor mused despondently. Guillermo nodded in defeat. 

“I really pushed myself, master. I’m sorry.” Guillermo recognized the look of confusion on Nandor’s face; it was an expression that was almost permanently etched there. Guillermo frowned. He wasn’t sure what Nandor had to be unsure about. “You remember, right? What just happened?”

Nandor hissed, loosening his grip on Guillermo’s wrists. His arms flopped down to his sides. “Yes, I remember, Guillermo! Of course I remember you slaughtering the enemy in front of my own eyes.” 

“I’m sorry,” Guillermo repeated, stepping back and staring at the floor. His hands shook violently and he fought the urge to fiddle with his glasses, knowing the movement would only exacerbate the ache. 

“I do not understand,” Nandor clarified. “Why are you so sorry about this?” 

“Because I killed vampires  _ right in front of your eyes _ !” 

Nandor frowned, his brows furrowing. He crossed his arms. “Vampires that were going to kill us.” 

Guillermo let his gaze lift from the floor to Nandor’s face. 

He was barely restraining his panic at where this conversation was headed. He had hoped that what happened in the entryway of their home just a mere hour ago would go unspoken. Once he hadn’t been immediately killed after revealing his skills as a slayer, he assumed that meant all was well, or at least well enough. 

He didn’t want to discuss it. 

He didn’t want to explain what he was to Nandor. He didn’t want to admit he was a killer. He was  _ ashamed _ . 

He had barely even thought about killing the assassins that were closing in on his master, Nadja, and Laszlo before he was procuring stakes out of thin air, using the one he kept in his jacket pocket to kill the largest of the five invaders, and breaking off legs of furniture, picture frames, anything he could get his hands on in the house to finish the other four. He tore apart their home and wielded weapons from the objects that they held dear. 

It was like his brain had shut off, and some other part of him took over. It terrified him to know that he was capable of doing so much harm to creatures that he had spent his whole life idolizing. Of course, these were  _ bad _ vampires, intending to cause hurt to those he cared about. But, in the rush of the moment, he delighted in his actions. He had enjoyed himself. He laughed as he watched the assassins die at his hands. And only after the rush of adrenaline was gone and the fog in his head cleared did the nausea and guilt twist in. 

So he didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to explain. He just wanted things to go back to normal; he wanted the ever-looming threats circling this house to disappear so he wouldn’t have to be a slayer again, so he wouldn’t have to be what he was. 

Nandor looked at him sternly, and Guillermo frowned. He could feel his shoulders visibly deflate as he had barely any energy to hold himself upright any longer, shrinking under his master's stare. Nandor’s features softened then, his eyes unpredictably gentle. 

“You know, Guillermo,” he began, dark eyes darting to look everywhere but his familiar’s face. Guillermo waited patiently for him to get the words out. “You looked very powerful while you were killing those vampires. Very imposing. It reminded me of… me, on the battlefield.  _ Ruthless, _ ” he added with delight, the long sibilant grating to Guillermo’s ears.

He couldn’t hold back a shiver of revulsion. He knew Nandor was trying to be kind in his own strange way, but the words did little to mollify him. 

He didn’t  _ want _ to be ruthless. And if he had to be ruthless, why did those instincts only kick in when he was up against the very thing he always wanted it to be? It was his destiny to be immortal, he thought, not to be a killer of the undead. He felt sick with himself. 

His eyes fluttered to the door. He wanted to go to bed. He hadn’t even taken Nandor’s cravat off yet. He stood only a few feet from his master, but they felt immeasurably distant. 

“Are you not happy about this?” Nandor asked, his voice dropping to a hushed, gentle tone. “What is troubling you?” 

“I’m just tired, master,” Guillermo sighed. It wasn’t lying, not necessarily. He  _ was _ tired. So very, very tired. 

“I know it can be difficult,” Nandor explained slowly. “It can be difficult to learn your own power, to know what you are really capable of. And I know that you have always wanted to be a vampire, so it must be hard for you to be so good at killing us.” He bared his teeth. His eyes crinkled at the corners. Maybe the expression was supposed to be comforting. 

Guillermo gaped. Suddenly all the wisdom a 700-year-old being might possess was glimmering in his master’s gaze. “Don’t look so surprised, Guillermo. I must confess something to you. In Al Quolanudarian training, I had a very difficult time after my first pillage. It upset me deeply, to see the destruction I had caused,” Nandor admitted, a faraway look in his eyes. “However, it was what I was meant to do. I was born a warrior. I watched you tonight, Guillermo. You are a warrior, too. That is a gift, isn’t it?” 

Guillermo felt tears prick at his eyes and he admitted, voice barely audible, “It doesn’t feel like a gift. It feels like a burden.” 

Nandor tsked at him sadly, shaking his head. He reached forward with his long, strong arms and let them float in the air for a moment, hesitating. Guillermo flinched on instinct. Nandor sighed commiseratingly. "Oh, _Guillermo_ ," he murmured, before wrapping his hovering arms around Guillermo’s shoulders, tucking him into his chest in a tight embrace. 

Guillermo pressed his forehead against Nandor’s chest and allowed himself to cry, his shoulders shaking with the weight of his sobs. His indecision and his turmoil was scratching at his skin, and his master’s kindness had only opened the wound. It was a gash, now, and blood was pooling to the surface, and all he could do was shake and weep and cling to Nandor’s embrace. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Kudos and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
